Itachi had a bit of toothpaste smeared on his small hand. He clung to the edge of the bathroom doorway and craned his head out to look.
Silence settled over the living room.
Mikoto smacked Roy lightly on the back, scolding him with a look. "Don't say nonsense."
Across from them, Fugaku didn't smile. He just stared at Roy in silence—his thoughts flashing back to the clan meeting at the Uchiha shrine, when Roy had casually claimed he could help clan members awaken their eyes, and Fugaku had felt like he'd been struck by lightning.
"Mikoto." Fugaku raised a hand to stop her. His gaze sharpened, pinned on Roy. After a moment, he said, "I understand."
It sounded like he'd said everything—yet also nothing. He deliberately skipped past the topic and said instead, "Go."
Roy checked the time: 7:45. Fifteen minutes until the 8:00 meet. He smiled, nodded at Fugaku, then turned to Mikoto. "Mom, I'm heading out. Tonight I want katsudon…"
Bracing a hand on the tatami, he rose—then a patch of mudflat appeared under his feet.
Under Mikoto's stunned stare and Fugaku's tightening expression, Roy sank calmly into the ground…
…and resurfaced on the other side of the living room, right in front of the bathroom door.
A soundless ripple spread. The mudflat "opened" in space, and a head of thick black hair emerged.
Roy popped up beside Itachi with a grin, practically cheek-to-cheek. Itachi's precocious eyes flared bright—finally understanding what had happened—only for his head to go hot as Roy grabbed it in one hand and gave it a gentle rub.
"nii-san, what jutsu is that?" The small boy looked up at him. Weird—after one nap, his brother seemed taller again. Before, Itachi could reach Roy's chin. Now he felt like he'd have to stand on tiptoe just to reach Roy's neck. It was the kind of growth that made you jealous.
"Hm…" Roy pinched his chin, honestly getting stumped.
Swamp Space originally came from the Split Demon's Blood Demon Art, fused with Roy's understanding of terrain and space. You could call it a combination of Earth and Space… but it could also emerge from water, trees, flowers—anything with "form."
So calling it "Earth Release" didn't really fit.
"I'm not sure either," Roy said after thinking. Then he smiled down at Itachi. "Itachi—what do you think it should be called?"
Itachi's eyes sparkled. "Can you come out of water?"
"Yep."
"Trees?"
"Yep."
"Stones?"
"Of course." Roy could feel the weight of Fugaku and Mikoto's gaze from behind him growing heavier. He said gently, "As long as it has a shape, I can."
Itachi thought seriously for a moment. Then, like he'd solved a problem, he said, "A Step Away, a World Apart!"
"nii-san always tells me the world is huge, but also tiny. If you measure it with your feet… you might walk it all."
"I don't think there's a better name than that."
"A Step Away, a World Apart…" Mikoto repeated under her breath.
"A Step Away, a World Apart…" Fugaku murmured, voice low.
Itachi wasn't wrong. The world is vast, and yet small—one step can be the horizon. But…
That only applies to the rare geniuses who actually master space-time ninjutsu. Ordinary people—even elite jōnin from Konoha, Kumo, or Iwa—if they truly believed that, they'd waste their whole lives.
Fugaku cleared his throat. "Itachi. Let your brother wash up."
His tone didn't allow argument.
Itachi obediently stepped aside. A breeze brushed his shoulder, and a voice drifted by with it:
"'A Step Away, a World Apart'… that's a good name."
Itachi watched Roy's back as he went into the bathroom and picked up his toothbrush. For once, the little boy smiled.
7:50 a.m.—about ten minutes left until check-in.
Roy finished washing up. When he came out, Fugaku was already done eating, wearing his jōnin vest and forehead protector, and had left early for his Police Force shift.
Mikoto cleaned up the dishes and walked Roy to the entrance. At the genkan, she bent down and wiped dust from his shoes, murmuring, "You're grown now, and you've got your own strength. So I won't say much…"
"I'll listen to you. Tonight, I'll make katsudon for you."
Roy smiled. "Deal."
Then he waved at Itachi, who was still sitting by the tatami. "When Shisui comes over, tell him today's training is the same as yesterday—two sets of ten-thousand swings. I'll check at dusk."
Itachi's cheeks were puffed full of sushi. He nodded silently—already feeling his arms start to ache, and they hadn't even begun.
"Enough. With me and your dad watching, nothing will go wrong," Mikoto said, giving Roy a light smack as she opened the door.
Roy just smiled, said nothing more, and stepped outside.
The sun was climbing. Roy inhaled deeply—morning air, clean and sharp—then headed toward the rendezvous point: a training ground near the village gate, at the edge of the Southern Forest.
Footsteps carried him through streets, away from the crowded shopping district and its bright signs, into the forest where the air turned damp and cool.
Then Roy stopped.
Beside a large tree on the path deeper into the Southern Forest stood a man with swaying white hair.
The hair was tied with a forehead protector, the Leaf symbol stamped in the center—the Will of Fire burns on.
Roy met eyes with Sakumo Hatake from ten meters away.
The "White Fang of Konoha," a Kage-level legend, lowered his folded arms. His gaze locked onto Roy—complicated, regretful, emotions mixing like someone had kicked over a jar of five flavors.
He sighed softly. "I knew the higher-ups wouldn't approve me being your instructor… but I still held onto a sliver of hope. Looks like I was imagining things."
White Fang could be Kakashi's father, a hero to ordinary shinobi, a monster who eclipsed the Sannin—Konoha's pillar.
He just couldn't be Uchiha's White Fang. Not even a hint of connection was allowed.
Roy hated politics. Hated dirty power games. But like light and shadow, spear and shield—opposites that still belong to the same world—he understood the truth.
He bowed to Sakumo. "Honestly… if we're only talking swordsmanship, White Fang-sensei is already my teacher."
He bowed fully, then straightened and looked him in the eye. "A teacher teaches, a student learns. It doesn't have to be official paperwork. Don't you think so?"
Sakumo froze—then laughed, truly laughed.
Shaking his head, he said self-mockingly, "I can't accept being called your teacher. Because…"
He looked at Roy, eyes steady. "What you gave me is far more than what I gave you. Far, far more."
Thunder Breathing was a technique, an art, and a path—and different people would understand it differently. Talent, worldview, the shape of the heart—those differences could become a gap as wide as heaven and earth. Just like Kaigaku and Zenitsu: same teacher, same "Thunder," but not even the same universe.
And Sakumo already excelled at Lightning Release. His sword talent was absurd. A short blade made the entire ninja world tremble. He should've been able to reach even higher—until the story forced him aside for Kakashi's road.
"White Fang-sensei is exaggerating," Roy said lightly. "It's just my shallow understanding."
"Shallow?" Sakumo stared at him, then nodded as if it really did make sense. "For you, sure. It probably is."
He pinched a falling leaf between his fingers. Lightning flickered—and the leaf became ash.
Then he swallowed his emotions, stepped aside, and opened the shaded forest path with a gesture. "Go. Minato and the others are waiting."
Roy lifted his eyes to the sun climbing the sky—then, suddenly, he glanced toward the Hokage Tower.
At the very center of Konoha, like a rice cooker turned upside down over the village, the Hokage Building loomed.
Third floor. Hokage's office.
A certain old man, pipe in his mouth, hands shaped like a frame, kept pumping chakra into a crystal ball. He puffed smoke and muttered to himself, "I'm only watching. I'm not going over there…"
Roy's expression stayed cool. This time, he didn't bother using En to block Hiruzen Sarutobi's Telescope Technique.
Because Roy knew: whatever happened at the training ground, the Third would find out anyway.
After all, Roy's assigned leader was Minato Namikaze—Jiraiya's student, Sarutobi's grand-student. The Third's favorite kind of connection.
So Roy treated the surveillance like air, like dust under his feet. He walked past Sakumo and headed deeper into the Southern Forest.
"Roy," Sakumo called after him.
"Protect yourself."
Roy paused.
Sakumo stood with his back to the tree, voice warm. "I want another sword talk with you someday. So…"
"Make sure you stay alive."
Roy's heart flickered. He remembered Sakumo's fate—how saving comrades became "failure," how the village turned its back, how even the people he saved stabbed him with "correct politics," until he finally chose death.
Maybe it was "mission politics." Maybe it was "too famous, too dangerous." Either way, it was filth.
Roy inhaled and let out a cold laugh. "Yeah… this village is filthy."
Then he turned back and flashed Sakumo a bright grin. "Then it's a deal, White Fang-sensei."
"If I come back from the battlefield and you're gone, I'll take it out on Kakashi."
Sakumo blinked. "What does that have to do with Kakashi?"
Roy lifted his chin, shamelessly righteous. "Sins of the father, paid by the son. If you're not around, who else am I supposed to blame?"
Back in the Hokage office, Sarutobi stared at the crystal ball, stunned. A white-haired Hatake. A black-haired Uchiha. One in his prime and strong enough to crush Sarutobi's own three disciples… the other a gifted prodigy with shocking moves.
They shouldn't even be in the same story.
Sarutobi frowned and took another pull of his pipe. Smoke curled around the Hokage hat on the corner of his desk, dulling it with a layer of gray.
Out in the forest, Sakumo shook his head, but his smile was gentle. "Alright."
He nodded to Roy, and watched him disappear into the trees.
Only after Roy was fully gone did Sakumo vanish too—like he'd never been there at all.
The Southern Forest returned to quiet. A few faint birdcalls drifted in the air.
In the Hokage office, Sarutobi tapped ash from his pipe onto the desk. Then he increased the chakra flow, swung the view away from Sakumo, and followed Roy again.
Roy strolled as if he weren't reporting in—more like he was sightseeing. As if he'd decided: I'm already late, what's a few more minutes?
Big-hearted? Lazy? Who knew.
Eventually, he arrived.
"You're late." At the training ground stood one adult and three kids, in an open clearing ringed by human-shaped practice posts. Four pairs of eyes watched him—curious, searching, complicated, some even amused.
Roy stopped, hands in his pockets, and looked at the man who stepped forward.
Minato's blond hair stood up like a porcupine's. For one disorienting second, Roy saw Naruto overlaid on him—so similar it almost felt wrong. The only differences were the face, the eyes, the nose… and the lack of whisker-marks.
"It's White Fang-sensei's fault," Roy said with a shrug. "If he hadn't held me up, I would've made it."
Not far away, a certain white-haired man who'd just left the forest stumbled and sneezed.
In the Hokage office, a certain old man's mouth twitched slightly. He shook his head with a soft, helpless smile.
"Slippery," Sarutobi thought.
And it was also Minato's first impression.
Minato just smiled. "I don't ask why. I only look at the result."
"You're late, so you're punished."
~~~
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